Labors of Love
by Evie Delacourt
Summary: Love manifests itself in varying forms. When a young mother finds her life unexpectedly threatened by childbirth complications, those who love her most are forced to discover some uniquely Deryni solutions to the emergency at hand. Probably closer to K , but since the story depicts a childbirth scene gone awry, I'll rate it T for the squeamish. 7 years after Maidens of Mayhem.
1. Part One: Annunciation

**Labors of Love**

** Part One—Annunciation**

_ March 25, 1133_

_ Rhemuth Castle_

"Oh, damn!"

Father John Nivard stopped short just inside the entrance to the secret library annex. The speaker had her back to him, but the priest readily recognized both her form and voice. He suppressed a smirk at what, from the lady in question, was blistering language indeed, and wondered what had happened to raise her ire.

"Having trouble finding a good book?" he asked, chuckling as Lady Sophie Arilan whirled to face him, her cheeks burning.

She gave him an abashed smile, lifting a filmy oval of diaphanous white fabric. "It's this dratted veil. I was hoping to wear it to Easter Court, but it won't stay pinned."

_That's _what was different about her! With a start, the priest realized that he hadn't seen his friend unveiled in years, not since her marriage to Sir Seisyll nearly seven years earlier. The long braids that cascaded over her shoulders were just as dark and lustrous as they'd been when she was a maiden of eighteen, though she sometimes wore them wrapped in decorative braid-cases as was fashionable among married women nowadays. Not always, though. Like his late sister Elizabeth had once done, Sophie often wore her thick braided locks unadorned, allowing its natural beauty to show rather than hiding it under ribbons or other silken fripperies, except of course for the head-covering that all married women wore outside the privacy of their bowers or bedchambers.

"So there _is_ a top to your head still," John teased. "I've always wondered what you women hide under those scraps of linen and flimsy bits of silk."

Sophie laughed as she attempted to pin the slippery silk veil back onto her chin and head straps. "I'd almost rather have a tonsure, I think. There'd be no pins to lose."

"No, you'd just have to shave a perfect circle at the top of your head, too far back to see it properly in any mirror," he said with a grin. "You're sure that would be less trouble?"

"At least that would be my tiring maid's problem, not mine!" Sophie frowned as a jewel-headed pin slipped back out of the fine silk, falling onto the floor. She bent to pick it up with a long-suffering sigh. "I should have picked a different sort of silk or a fine linen for this veil, but this fabric looked so beautiful on the bolt. I had no idea it was spun and woven by the imps of Hell!"

The priest laughed. "Somewhere there's a silk-worker who would be highly offended to hear herself referred to as an imp from Hell. Thankfully she's not within earshot."

"You don't happen to have a mirror close by, do you?"

"Why, so I can admire myself reading and sorting books in the Library? I'm afraid not." John chuckled. "But my sister had a similar problem with one of her veils. You might try her solution."

"Wearing the headstraps _over_ it? Hoof glue? Or did she just end up nailing the veil directly to her skull?"

The priest chortled. "Nothing that extreme. Here, let me show you." He took a step forward, frowning in thought as he tried to remember how his younger sister had once arranged her hair. He reached out tentatively, stopping a few inches short of actually touching the nearest braid, and drew a vague sort of loop around Sophie's head with his finger instead. "She sort of wrapped that braid up and around her head like so, and the other braid in the opposite direction, and had her maid sew them up with ribbons somehow, and then pinned the veil to that instead."

Peals of feminine laughter filled the library annex. "Are you drawing a halo over me, John?"

Father Nivard smiled sheepishly. "It would probably be easier if I just showed you, if you don't mind?" At her nod of acquiescence, he took the long braids and wrapped each around Sophie's head to form a sort of plush brown coronet. "Elizabeth's tiring maid somehow sewed her braids up and around her head like this, using ribbon and some kind of a large blunt needle, if I'm remembering correctly. I don't know what the style is called, but once the hair was all up, Elizabeth either pinned her veil to the braids or maybe into the ribbons wrapped around them, I'm not sure which." He gave a self-conscious chuckle as he released the braids, allowing the silken masses of hair to drop back down over Sophie's shoulders. "Can you tell I wasn't called to be a tiring maid?"

"You certainly weren't called to be my wife's!"

John took a hasty step to one side, turning to face the new arrival standing on the Transfer Portal stone. Seisyll Arilan raised a sable brow skyward at him. The priest felt his face flame.

"Seisyll!" Sophie's hazel eyes shot daggers at her husband. "John was only trying to be helpful." She thrust the silken oval of veiling at him. "Here, maybe _you_ can get it to stay on. Be sure to pin it to the veil straps and not to _me_."

The blue-violet eyes shot skyward as if imploring Heaven for strength. "Sophie, go change the veil already! Can you not use the one you wore to Twelfth Night Court? That was pretty."

"It was until your son used it for a kite," Sophie agreed. "And my other silk one still has purple spots on it from when Stefania tried it on with jam-coated fingers. Sadie never could get all the stains out."

"What's wrong with linen, then?" Seisyll asked almost plaintively.

"It's Easter Court!" Sophie said, her voice incredulous, as if the question were so stupid she could hardly imagine it warranted an answer.

The priest studied his boot-tops, sternly suppressing a smile. He was sympathetic to Seisyll's puzzlement—he had no idea either why it would matter so much to Sophie what sort of veil she wore to Easter Court—but he didn't want to risk Seisyll misconstruing his amusement. "Would the silk veil stay pinned if you wore linen bands under it?" he ventured. "I think it's the slip of smooth silk against silk that's causing at least part of the problem. The polished metal pins haven't enough friction to hold them in. Something with a bit more texture might help."

"That…might work." Sophie looked thoughtful. John was obscurely grateful she hadn't dismissed the idea—and him—as being barking mad. "It's worth a try." She glanced at her husband. "I'll be back directly."

Seisyll nodded, his lips tight, arms crossed in front of his chest. He stepped aside, allowing his wife access to the Transfer Portal. "Don't take too long."

Sophie disappeared, leaving the two men behind in the annex. They studied each other for a few long moments, the priest finally breaking the silence between them.

"I do apologize if I appeared to be…overly familiar with your lady. I imagine that must have looked very awkward from your perspective. I was truly just trying to describe a hairstyle, and not doing a very good job at it, I'm afraid." Father Nivard gave Seisyll Arilan an abashed smile.

The blue-violet Arilan eyes gazed unsmilingly back at him for another long moment. Seisyll sighed heavily. "John, I trust my wife. For that matter, I mostly trust _you_. But has it occurred to you that the three of us are far from the only people who use this Annex and Portal, and that what I walked in on might have looked a lot more compromising to someone else who doesn't know both of you so well? I have allowed her friendship with you to continue because I believed that if I could trust any man with my wife's reputation, I ought certainly to be able to trust a priest."

The priest averted his eyes, swallowing uncomfortably. "I truly meant no harm, Seisyll; I just didn't think it through."

Seisyll nodded. "I know you didn't. That's why we're still talking, and you're not lying on the bloody floor." He leaned back against one of the annex walls, giving the other man a wry smile. "So. Now that that's settled, has Sophie already told you our news, or did she get too sidetracked by that damned veil?"

"News?" John thought back. "No, she didn't mention anything. What sort of news?"

A shimmer above the Portal stone announced Sophie's return. "I'll let her tell you herself. Sophie, did you forget _why_ you wanted to come through the Annex in the first place, sweeting?"

Sophie glanced at her husband, blushing slightly at the twinkle of mild amusement that had crept into his eyes. "Oh! Yes, I got…distracted." She laughed slightly, turning to catch John's eye. "Your idea's working well so far. The linen has a much better grip on the veil pins."

"Court starts soon, Sophie. The news?"

Her cheeks turned rosier. "Right! Well, ah…we…that is, Seisyll and I…we're going to be having another son in late summer, around the middle of August, and…um…what do you think about the name 'John Denis'?"

It took a moment for Sophie's question to register; another one for John Nivard to stop staring at her, dumbfounded, and answer. "I…ah…." He glanced at Seisyll. John was such a common name; surely he'd be flattering himself to think they'd be naming their child after _him_! No, it was probably a family name. "John Denis Arilan. Yes, it sounds…quite nice, actually, but wouldn't his great-uncle Denis prefer for his namesake to go by 'Denis John' instead?"

Seisyll snorted. "I suggested that briefly, for diplomacy's sake if nothing else, but Sophie's right, the names sound better the other way around."

Father Nivard covertly studied Sophie. She seemed in good health now, radiant even, but he was reminded of her very recent bout with the fever-flux just under a year past, and her subsequent miscarriage of another son, one which would have been born just this past Christmastide had he survived his mother's illness. He'd lost his baby sister Elizabeth to the fever-flux in that same fateful month, though at least she'd been safely delivered of her last child just over a month before she succumbed to the illness, and although he'd not had a chance to meet his youngest niece yet, family letters had assured him that she still thrived. He had lit many a candle in prayer over Elizabeth's safe deliverance through childbirth, only to lose her to the contagion that had taken so many Gwyneddan lives over the past spring and summer, her life slipping away so quickly that she'd already been buried before he ever received the news that she'd even taken ill.

He was happy for the young couple standing before him. He had known that Sophie in particular was eager to add to her small family, and that Seisyll also had hopes for a second son to help secure the Arilan line. But he suspected he would be spending the upcoming months wearing out the velvet kneeler pad on his prie-dieu nonetheless and burning a great amount of beeswax with his prayers for the expectant mother's safe deliverance from the travails of childbirth.

#

_ March 26—Easter Sunday_

_ St. Hilary's Basilica, Bishop's study_

"Christus resurrexit!" Sophie smiled up at Duncan from the doorway of his study.

"Vere resurrexit!" he replied with an answering smile of his own. "Come in."

Sophie did so, giving the bishop a curious look as she realized he was wearing non-priestly garments. She was so used to seeing him in the episcopal purple robes of his office, finding him in an ordinary black tunic and chausses seemed a bit odd, even though the cut and quality of the garments were quite suited to his noble birth. "Did you not officiate at the Easter Mass this morning?"

"Oh, I did. I had the sunrise Mass. But I thought this outfit would be better suited to spending a quiet day with the family. Dhugal and Mirjana are back from Cassan, along with my grandchildren. And, by the by, your friend Ailidh is here with her family as well."

Sophie's face brightened. "Oh, good! I've news for Ailidh. And for you as well…actually, it's more of a favor to ask." She blushed slightly. "But I don't wish to hold you from your family, if you're on your way out…."

"Not for another hour or two." Duncan gestured towards a chair. "I've a little time to spare, and it's good to see you again. How is everything at Tre-Arilan? I've a birthday present for my little sweetheart somewhere…." He turned away, his eyes scanning the room until his gaze fell upon a small box. "Ah, there it is! And how old is Stefania this year?"

"Six years old," her mother told him with a smile. "As of two days ago, St. Gabriel's Day."

"Ah. No tendencies towards Deryni healing gifts, though?" The Deryni bishop grinned.

Sophie laughed. "No, but she'll play with or in water every chance she gets, splashing around like a little duck!" She took the tiny box the bishop handed her. "So, may I peek, or must I wait until Steffie opens it?"

"You can go ahead and peek, and let me know if it's suitable or not. I actually found that a few years ago, but thought it best to wait until she was old enough to wear it instead of trying to eat it."

"Now I _am_ curious!" She opened the lid. Beneath it, nestled on a velvety cushion, was a small silver ring, two Trinity knots flanking a tiny oval iolite cabochon at the center. Sophie glanced up at Duncan. "Oh, it's lovely! She'll feel quite grown up wearing it, I'm sure." She tested the size on the tip of her smallest finger. "I think it should fit her now," she said, "though we'd best save it for special occasions. I'm afraid she might lose it if I let her wear it daily." She smiled up at her friend who had somehow, over the years, ended up turning into almost a surrogate grandfather for her children, filling a void left empty by her own father's sudden death in the early days of Seisyll's courtship of her. "Thank you. Though you know I think you spoil my children dreadfully."

He shrugged. "Someone has to. Tell Steffie that's her Court ring, and that she needs to save it for visits to Rhemuth. And as for the fit, the back of the band is plain, so I imagine it should be easy enough to resize as needed. I thought the gemstone looked like a perfect match for her eyes." Duncan poured Sophie a small goblet of sekanjabin. "And has Jamyl been practicing his letters?"

Sophie laughed. "Well, he started out doing so, but I fear he got distracted." She reached into her belt pouch, pulling out a tiny book of wax-coated tablets to hand to him. "You'll recognize those as the writing practice tablets you gave him last month."

The bishop nodded, opening the carved ivory cover and glancing at the first of the wax covered pages. The first letters of the alphabet were dutifully if clumsily inscribed in the first couple of leaves, but the letters soon gave way to a series of crude sketches. Duncan tilted the wax pages towards the light in an effort to make out what they were.

"You might need a bit of help interpreting those," Sophie told him, rising to look at the book over his shoulder. "That one is a sword, and this one is supposed to be a horse. And I'm told that the man with the rather jauntily tilted helmet is meant to be Seisyll holding a lance."

Duncan laughed. "Yes, I can see Jamyl's likelier to grow up as a knight than as a scribe. Though I suppose that's just as well, since he's Seisyll's heir." He flipped the thin waxy tablet, grinning at the next inscribed figure. "Well, this one's obviously female! Tell me that's not meant to be some sort of pagan fertility goddess?"

Sophie choked back a giggle, blushing slightly. "Actually, that's meant to be me," she explained, trying to maintain a straight face.

The bishop's gaze glanced briefly over her rather more willowy form, a look of unholy mischief dawning in the striking blue eyes. "Well, either the lad is prone to exaggeration or he's got a vision problem. Or did you just wean him too early?"

Sophie's eyes widened. "Duncan!" She lifted the ring box, making as if she meant to lob it at his head. "_Don't_ make me have to explain to the King tonight why the Kingdom is suddenly short one horribly cheeky bishop!"

The man roared with laughter, raising one hand as if to ward off an incipient blow. "All right, I'll stop!" The impish expression subsided to a fond smile. "What favor was it you wanted of me? You mentioned one when you first arrived."

Sophie tugged at a fold in her skirts, suddenly nervous now that the moment was at hand, though she knew she had no cause to be. "Well...Seisyll and I are expecting another son in August..." She glanced up at Duncan, who said nothing, merely raising his brows inquiringly. "We've decided to call him 'John Denis.'" She smiled sheepishly. "Actually, I thought about naming him 'John Duncan,' but as Seisyll pointed out, Denis _is_ family..."

Duncan chuckled. "Yes, he is. And I'm certain he'll be honored to have a namesake. And I'm equally honored just to have been considered."

Sophie took a deep breath. "Oh, good! In that case, I hope you'll feel equally honored...that is...would you consider being his godfather?"

"Assuming Seisyll agrees, yes, I would be delighted." The smiling eyes studied the expectant mother. "And what was John's reaction to finding out he's having a baby named after him, or have you told him yet?"

"Oh, we have. He seemed a little nonplussed." Sophie grinned.

"You realize, saddling the wee tyke with a name like 'John Denis,' you're all but predestining him for the Church? Should I find him a miniature cassock?"

She laughed. "Well, if he ends up having a priestly calling, I'll not mind. And I don't imagine Seisyll would either, just as long as Jamyl ends up marrying and producing heirs for Tre-Arilan. Though if he ends up like his older brother, I wouldn't start looking for that cassock just yet. I saw Jamyl blowing kisses at the chambermaids yesterday morning." Sophie rolled her eyes. "_There's_ one not destined for a life of celibacy!"

Duncan chuckled. "He's how old again? Three?"

"Yes. God help me, though; he's his father's son through and through. I may have to lock him up in a tower once he reaches manhood, at least until he's safely wed."

He gave the young woman a reminiscent smile. "Oh, I seem to recall a certain maiden not so many years ago who offered a bit of a challenge to a young knight bent on courtship, but she ended up settling him in the end."

Sophie suppressed a grin. "Only because I was so impossibly dense and naive, I didn't realize he was wooing me, and I'd not call Seisyll all _that_ settled even now! Sometimes I think his only domesticated quality is that he lives in a house."

"Oh, he could be worse. He could be just like Sextus." The bishop's eyes held a teasing sparkle.

Sophie gave him a look of mock-horror. "Oh no, absolutely not! I love my brother-in-law dearly, but if he'd been the last man alive in Gwynedd and offered for my hand in marriage, I'd have had to move to another Kingdom or enter a convent. Or possibly both!"

Duncan smiled. "Well, I'm glad that wasn't necessary, but should you ever consider entering lay ministry, we're always in need of more teachers here at the Schola."

Sophie stared at him. "You're asking _me_ to teach? But...you know I'm not formally trained, and most of what I know about the Deryni arts has come from being married to an Arilan for almost seven years. Seisyll would be far more qualified, or even Sextus, if you could get him to commit to anything."

"That's all right; we've got a few teachers now who are qualified to teach on a more advanced level, but there's always a need for more tutors to give one-on-one guidance in the basics, and you're certainly qualified enough to handle that. Just think about it. I realize with another baby on the way, you might not be ready or able to commit to any sort of full-time responsibility until he's old enough to do without you for a few hours at a time, but even occasional help would be useful." Duncan smiled winningly. "And I already know you're patient with children."

"I'll have to talk it over with Seisyll." She studied him, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. "This isn't just a sneaky ploy to get me to visit Rhemuth more often, is it?"

He laughed. "Well, there's that too. But no, daughter of my heart, we really could use your help."

#

_March 27_

_ St. Hilary's Basilica, Bishop's study_

"Having a good Easter Monday, John?" Duncan studied the younger priest seated across from him. Father Nivard looked unusually tired for so early in the afternoon.

"Yes, mostly. Sebastian was at Court yesterday; that's the first time I've seen him since Elizabeth's death last year. He brought tidings from home, as well as a portrait of the new baby. Well, not so new anymore; she's nearly a year old now." He handed the bishop a miniature painting. "I think she looks a bit like Elizabeth around the eyes, though her coloring is Sebastian's."

Duncan looked down at the portrait, then back up at his friend's face. "I can see that. Those look like Nivard eyes." He handed the picture back to John. "She looks like a charming little lady. What's her name again? Johanna, wasn't it?"

"Yes." John Nivard smiled faintly.

"For a childless man, you're not exactly short on namesakes." Duncan grinned. "I hear you'll be sharing one with your former mentor Denis."

The young priest blushed. "So I hear." Looking somewhat discomfited, he changed the subject. "How did your own family visit go yesterday?"

Duncan leaned back in his chair. "Well enough, I suppose. It was good to have a bit of time with Dhugal again and to get to know Mirjana a bit better, and Trina's learned how to pull herself upright and walk after a fashion, as long as she has things to hold on to, so keeping up with her is a bit of an adventure." He smiled briefly, though the expression was swiftly replaced by a fleeting shadow of sorrow. "Duncan Michael's a bit quieter than usual, though I suppose that's to be expected given his recent ordeal. For once, he had no interest in going to visit the fish pond. He was mostly content to sit in his 'Papa Duncan's' lap. And of course, given Mikhail's death just a couple of weeks ago, everyone was a bit subdued." He sighed. "I think Dhugal is planning on staying in Rhemuth for a few weeks longer, for Mirjana's sake, then taking his family home by way of Transha and Kierney, in part so she can get to know his other lands and households, and in part to give her a bit more time to heal emotionally before they return to Cassan. He definitely hopes to be back in Ballymar well before the baby is due, though. He wants the next Jared McLain to be born in Cassan."

"That certainly seems fitting, since the last Jared McLain was Duke of Cassan. Hopefully the new Duchess will have an easy enough time with his birth."

Duncan's perceptive gaze studied his younger friend. "You're worrying about Sophie, aren't you?"

John looked away, his color rising. "I suppose I am, a bit. Aren't you?"

The bishop considered the question. "A little, though I think I'd have been much more concerned if she'd gotten with child again several months ago, before she'd fully recovered from the fever-flux and her miscarriage. She's in good health now, though, as strong as she was when she was expecting Stefania and Jamyl, and she had little trouble with either of those births." He smiled. "I get the impression from her that the early months of sickness bother her far more than the labors of childbirth, since at least that's gotten out of the way fairly quickly by comparison."

"I suppose that's one way to look at it, though morning sickness so very rarely kills women." John stared gloomily into the hearth fire. "I know I haven't the right to worry, and that it's all in God's hands, but right now it's a bit hard for me to put that bit of theology into actual practice."

Duncan's brows rose. "Well, worrying might do no one any good, but certainly any friend might be excused for feeling some concern. It's not as if the dangers _don't_ exist, they just needn't become overblown." He smiled at his friend. "If you were riding off to war, there'd be cause for some concern in that case as well, but would you want Sophie fretting over your safety every moment, long before you even reached the front lines?"

John Nivard gave a dry snort of amusement. "If _I'm_ ever sent into battle, it will only be because the walls of Rhemuth Castle are under siege and the King is desperate to press every live body into military service! There's a reason, besides being a third son with a love for scholarship, why I decided to enter the priesthood." He offered up a wry grin. "I take your point, though."

"Better at taking up the sword of the Spirit than live steel, are you? I'll let Kelson know. That way, if we're besieged, he can assign you to a duty station atop the Keep where you can rain Scripture verses down at the enemy."

Father Nivard laughed, his good humor restored. "You're such a bastard, Duncan!"


	2. Part Two: Deliverance

** Part Two—Deliverance**

_ August 15, 1133_

_ Rhemuth Castle Library_

"John, I need Bishop Duncan, and I need him _now!_" Seisyll Arilan, his eyes frantic in a pale face, came charging through the secret entrance from the Library Annex and towards the librarian, seated at his desk in the Royal Library. "Where would he be this time of day? At the Basilica?"

John Nivard looked up from the book he was mending, startled. "I'm not entirely certain. He's normally there at this time, but he mentioned something last night about having a meeting with the King sometime this afternoon regarding Schola business..."

"Is Alaric Morgan in Rhemuth, then, or is he still in Corwyn?"

A sick churning began in Father Nivard's gut as his instincts told him the reason for Seisyll Arilan's urgency. If Arilan was seeking those two Deryni in particular, and in such haste, he had almost certainly come in search of a Healer, and not for some ordinary injury or ailment either, or his need would not be so desperate. "It's Sophie, isn't it? Her time's come?" John rose, trying to recall what exactly Duncan had told him about his plans for the day when they'd parted the previous evening. "Check with Kelson first; if Duncan's not in Council with him yet, the King can get a message delivered to him, or send out as many pages or squires as might be required to locate him if necessary. I'll check the Basilica to see if he's still at the Schola or in his study. Unless..." The priest swallowed hard. "How urgent is her need? Does she need...should I head to Tre-Arilan instead?" He prayed not; he could think of no reason he'd be required in the presence of a woman laboring in childbirth unless her condition were so grave she was in need of Extreme Unction.

Seisyll's face looked haunted as he, too, pondered the implications of the question. At last, tears shimmering in his eyes, he nodded abruptly. "She's been in labor since yesterday morning, John, but the baby's in the wrong position, and the midwife's tried every trick she knows to shift him, but he won't budge, and now Sophie's losing strength and the midwife fears she'll be too exhausted to continue on much longer. At this point, I'll take any help we can get."

#

John tried to clear the panic from his mind long enough to focus on his destination. Despite his long-time friendship with the Arilans, he had actually only visited Sir Seisyll's ancestral home twice, and the first time he'd gone there, bringing books to entertain Sophie and to nourish her soul while she recovered from Stefania's birth and settled into first-time motherhood, Duncan had been the one to bring him through the Transfer Portal. He'd been allowed to learn its unique signature—an indicator of genuine trust among Deryni—but had only visited there on his own one other time, shortly after young Jamyl's birth, to attend his christening and the subsequent family celebration over a new Arilan heir.

He took a deep steadying breath and searched his memory for the right location. There! Tightening his grip on the bag containing the elements of his priestly office, he turned his focus on that signature and jumped westward, reappearing a moment later at the Portal in Tre-Arilan.

#

Sir Seisyll's steward looked briefly surprised to see him, but had evidently been prepared in advance for new arrivals. He led the priest straight upstairs to the private wing of the manor house, where the family chambers were located. The two stopped at a closed door, the steward holding a brief, whispered conference with the young chambermaid standing outside it. She nodded, glancing wide-eyed at Father Nivard, then turned to enter the chamber. A few moments later she opened the door again, motioning for the priest to come in, genuflecting as he entered the room.

The midwife spotted him from across the room. She looked startled. "You're not the chaplain!"

"Not the family's chaplain, no," Nivard said apologetically. "I serve in the Chapel Royal in Rhemuth. Sir Seisyll asked me to come on ahead while he goes to find Bishop McLain."

"Father Anselmus has been abed, stricken with a catarrh, Mistress Nan, but he sent a message a short while ago that he would be up directly," the chambermaid explained nervously. "But given Lady Sophie's distress, I thought mayhap any priest would suffice…."

"Yes, yes, quite right, I simply wasn't expecting Laird Seisyll to be sending one over from Rhemuth!" The midwife turned impatient eyes towards the priest. "This way, then."

He followed her through the smaller antechamber into a slightly larger room, this one with a large canopied bed as its central focus. The patient, however, was not in bed but was on the other side of it, her slender form half sitting on a throne-like birthing stool with arms, half lolling against the back-rest. Her eyes were closed. To John's relief, she was still clothed, albeit only in a chemise, damp with her exertions, ruched up to expose bare legs and feet beneath the stained hemline. Sweat-slicked hair was braided back and out of her face, which had an unnatural pallor. He moved closer, reached out a tentative hand to clasp hers. It was limp and cold to the touch, but not—praise God!—the unresponsive coldness of death. But upon touching her, he realized that Sophie was not merely resting or even asleep, but had lapsed into unconsciousness.

A movement stirred under the damp linen that lay across her abdomen. With a start, the priest realized it was the unborn infant, moving in his mother's womb. Or was it perhaps another contraction? John felt completely out of his element here, in this chamber of women's mysteries, and utterly helpless.

Well, maybe not utterly. There was one thing he could still do for this woman who had become as dear to him as a cherished younger sister. Perhaps, if he were truly honest with himself, even more dear.

He looked up at the midwife. "Has she been unconscious long?"

She shook her head. "No, Father. She lost her strength just before you arrived. Poor little bird; perhaps it's best so. She fought so hard to bring this child into the world." Her eyes glistened with tears. "There might still be hope for the baby even if she doesn't pull through, but she needs the Last Rites first."

He had come prepared for this, ready to give the Sacrament of Extreme Unction if needed, yet now that the moment was at hand, he knew he was not yet emotionally ready. And yet it must be done. He reminded himself that Extreme Unction was not a death knell, that even at this point, some patients made a full recovery by the grace of God.

Sophie was not conscious, so he could not administer the Viaticum. He felt a wistful sadness on her behalf, knowing she would have wanted to partake of the blessed Host one final time. He could, however, offer her absolution for any sins she'd not had a chance to confess, and anoint her with the Oleum Infirmorum.

Her pulse still beat beneath his fingertips, if only weakly. Father Nivard turned towards the midwife once again.

"If I could awaken her, lend her some extra strength for her labors, would that help?" He wondered how much he knew of the Arilan family, of their Deryni heritage. She must suspect _something_; surely she'd have worked out that he could not have been fetched back here from Rhemuth so quickly had there not been arcane means of travel at hand. Tre-Arilan was near to Rhemuth, but not so near that he could have been summoned and sent back within mere minutes on horseback.

"You're not the Healer the Laird's gone back for, are you?" The midwife looked puzzled. "If you can turn the baby inside her first, then certainly it would help if she were awake and strong enough to push, but if you can't…." She shrugged. "Perhaps it's more merciful this way. Her water broke hours ago, and there's little left to cushion the baby within her with each contraction now, and he's a large tyke for her small frame, and wedged in sideways. I can feel how he has to be turned, but nothing we've tried has worked to shift him, and now…." She shook her head. "Mayhap it's simply not God's will."

Mayhap, but John wasn't ready to accept that yet. Still, he had to prepare for the possibility, for Sophie's sake. He reached into his traveling kit for the vial of holy water.

#

"Bishop McLain, the King says Sir Seisyll Arilan's lady has most urgent need of your healing gifts! You're to go at once." The boy in Haldane livery leaned against the doorway to Duncan's study, catching his breath. He had run the full distance to St. Hilary's at the King's command not to tarry in his mission.

"Are they here, or is she at Tre-Arilan?"

"Tre-Arilan, His Majesty said, my lord bishop."

Duncan nodded. "Please let His Majesty and Sir Seisyll know I'll head straight there. Seisyll needn't wait on me."

"Yes, my lord. Shall I stop by the stables on the way and have your horse made ready?"

The Deryni Healer shook his head absently. "That won't be necessary."

#

Bishop Duncan arrived to find John Nivard anointing Sophie's eyelids with oil, offering her the sacrament of unction. _"Per istam sanctam Unctiónem et suam piisimam misericórdiam, indúlgeat tibi Dóminus quidquid per visum…." _His eyes sought the midwife's. "Is she-?" he started to whisper.

"Unconscious, but she still lives," she whispered back. She gave him a brief summation of the situation as they watched the younger priest at his work.

Duncan nodded, staying back to allow Nivard to continue administering the sacrament, anointing her at ears, nostrils, lips, hands, and feet while repeating the traditional words over each, his mind translating the comforting rite automatically. "By this holy unction and His own most gracious mercy, may the Lord pardon you whatever sin you have committed by seeing…," the words repeated for each of her senses and physical faculties. John looked up as he finished anointing Sophie's feet, hope lighting up his eyes as he saw Duncan standing nearby. He paused, unsure whether to continue on with the ritual or not, waiting for the bishop to decide.

The bishop stepped forward, taking Sophie's limp wrist in his hand to check her pulse. "You can stop there for now, John. We can resume later, if it becomes necessary." Duncan firmly ordered himself to focus strictly on the moment, not to let his mind wander to that frightening possibility. He counted the faint beats beneath his fingertips, at last nodding to himself and looking back up at his fellow priest. "I'll need your help with this. Can you keep Sophie stabilized while I see what's going on with my godson?" As he spoke, he laid a gentle hand on the mound of Sophie's abdomen, casting out with his Deryni senses to assure himself that the baby still lived. The smooth muscles beneath his hand contracted even as he detected the boy's life energy and a small bit of movement.

"I can do that," John affirmed, glad to be given something more to do than simply await the Angel of Death.

The door behind Duncan opened, admitting Seisyll, who nodded at both priests grim-faced, walking over to lend assistance in whatever way he might be needed. John silently indicated that he should stand behind Sophie, on the opposite side from himself, so they could draw on his energy if needed. The midwife spoke quietly to Duncan, explaining how the baby was turned in Sophie's womb, how he needed to be positioned in order to make a proper exit from the birth canal. The Healer nodded, deft hands and Deryni senses swiftly feeling out the situation even as she spoke, assessing what needed to be done to save the lives of both the young mother and her unborn son. He realized as he considered the problem at hand that this was perhaps less a situation for true Healing power than for a lock-pick, at this point at least, though if further complications arose, his Healing abilities might still be needed. He turned his concentration to moving the baby, mentally sharing with Seisyll what he intended to do and drawing on his assistance. Slowly, the unborn child began to turn, only with great difficulty at first, but then more easily, the small head moving downwards and the baby's body rotated so he would be facing the right direction for birth. The midwife bent to touch Sophie's abdomen in awe.

"Mind the cord, my lord bishop! If you can, try to make sure it's not wrapped around the baby's neck."

Duncan paused in his ministrations, focused on sensing what he could about the baby's current position. To his relief, the cord did not seem to be in a position to strangle the boy as he was being born, but he could only dimly visualize what was happening inside Sophie, so he could not be fully certain. If he was wrong, little John Denis might be born only to die before he could draw his first breath. But at least now there was a far greater chance of saving Sophie.

He looked at the still face of the woman who had become like a daughter to him. No, he could not think of her as such right now. To do so would be to allow fear to take hold over him, and he couldn't afford that luxury. He couldn't imagine how difficult this ordeal must be for her husband. Had Maryse suffered so, giving birth to Dhugal? No, that was another thought he couldn't allow himself to ponder just now.

He looked up at Seisyll and John. "All right. John, wake her first, then it would probably be best if you let yourself out. The room's getting a bit crowded, and Sophie might have trouble keeping her mind on what she needs to do if we're all hovering over her." He spared his friend a brief, sympathetic smile. "Seisyll, lend her your strength once she comes around."

A moment passed, then Sophie stirred, moaning softly as another contraction racked her body. Duncan spoke softly. "Sophie, sweeting, we need you to push. Draw on Seisyll's strength and let's finish this, shall we?"

Her greenish-gold eyes fluttered open. "Father?" she whispered, confused.

"Father Duncan, yes," the bishop answered with a faint smile.

Her eyes focused, meeting his gaze. "But…what are you doing….?"

"Never mind that now, heart. We need to get my godson born first. Don't get distracted."

Seisyll brushed a stray wisp of hair out of his wife's face. "We can probably take it from here. Thank you, Duncan."

The Healer nodded. "I'll be just outside the door should you need me."

#

As it turned out, they did need Duncan's Healing gift after all.

The door opened shortly after Duncan's exit, revealing an ashen-faced Seisyll. "He's just been born," his godson's father informed him, "but he's not breathing and the midwife can't detect a pulse."

Duncan re-entered, finding the midwife bent over the baby, her finger scooping out his mouth to ensure there were no traces of mucus or meconium inside that might be impeding his breathing. She laid her fingers on the tiny chest again. Even as he crossed to her side, Duncan could see that the infant was blue from lack of air.

The midwife tried blowing the breath of life into his tiny nostrils and mouth, but to no avail. The small chest rose and fell once, but did not continue to do so on its own.

Duncan reached out with his mind, sensing the still heart within the infant's chest. It was so simple a thing, really, for a Deryni to stop a heart. Any Deryni could do it, once he knew how. And yet, it was so hard a thing to start one beating again.

Hard, perhaps, but not outside a Deryni healer's scope, if done swiftly enough, before that point of no return beyond which no Healer, no matter how skilled, could bring back a life. Duncan reached deep within his godson with his mind, stirring the tiny organ into life once more, feeling as he always did when exercising his Healing gifts that subtle presence of the Deryni saint alongside him as he did so. The midwife blew into the baby's nose and mouth again, and this time he inhaled, drawing the breath of life into his lungs sharply, his body finally taking up the rhythms that make life possible. His skin lost its bluish tinge, taking on healthier color. Duncan laid a hand upon his brow and offered up a silent prayer of thanksgiving to Saint Camber and to the God of miracles.

#

Father Anselmus, the chaplain for Tre-Arilan, rushed up the stairs, finally arriving at his dying Lady's bedchamber. He was bewildered to find her sponged clean and in a fresh nightshift, lying in bed tired but in seemingly good health, cradling her infant son in her arms.


	3. Part Three: Postpartum

** Part Three—Postpartum**

_ August 22, 1133_

_ Tre-Arilan, Sophie's bower_

Bishop Duncan held the sobbing woman in his arms, glancing up at Father Nivard as the younger priest entered the room. Sophie sniffed, dabbing at her tears with a handkerchief.

John paused in the doorway. "What's wrong? Is it the baby?" He looked around the room in alarm, but his newly-christened namesake was peacefully sleeping in his cradle next to the cushioned bench where his mother sat, his small chest rising and falling slightly with the rhythm of his quiet breathing.

"No, the baby's fine," Sophie assured the new arrival, her voice sounding forlorn. "It's Seisyll. He says we can't have any more children."

John looked at Duncan in confusion, then glanced back at Sophie. "The midwife said there was some...injury during the birth?"

"No, Seisyll just won't allow it to happen again. He says he's not willing to risk me." The tears threatened to start up anew.

Duncan patted the disconsolate woman's shoulder. "Well, sweeting, you gave us all quite a fright last week. We were certain we were losing you. Once a little time has passed, I'm sure he'll be willing to reconsider."

She shook her head. "No, he won't. This is _Seisyll _we're talking about. You know how stubborn he is! Damned Arilans..."

Duncan suppressed a chuckle. "Well, maybe Denis can have a little talk with him in a year or two, once John Denis is fully weaned and you're back to your full strength again, and they can butt heads like rams over it. Though given what you just went through, I'm a bit surprised you're so eager to repeat the experience. I'd have figured you'd be grateful for some respite, especially given how sick you feel at the beginning of each pregnancy."

Sophie threw up her hands. "All right, so I don't especially _like_ being pregnant, but it's rather hard to make more babies without that step, and if Seisyll would like to have a go at it for once, I certainly wouldn't mind!"

John stifled a laugh. _Is there some sort of medicine in her wine? _he mind-spoke to Duncan.

_ Not a single drop,_ Duncan assured him silently, his answering twinkle gleaming at him above Sophie's head. "I know you've had a long day, and you've got a house full of extended family you'll want to spend more time with in the morning, so we'll let you rest, heart. John and I need to get back to Rhemuth."

She gave him a trembling smile. "Thank you for being here for me." Glancing over her shoulder at John, she added, "_Both _of you!

#

_August 23_

_St. Hilary's Basilica, bishop's study_

Father Nivard stared thoughtfully into his wine cup. "Is there truly some way Seisyll could eliminate the risks of Sophie experiencing another difficult childbirth like that, or at least minimize them?"

Duncan raised an inquiring eyebrow at the younger priest. "No one's ever brought up the subject of contraception during Confession with you?"

"Well, no, I know about _that_! Though mostly I get those sorts of confessions from unmarried men wanting to avoid fathering bastards without being abstinent as they ought to be; married men generally want as many children as their wives can bear, since there's no guarantee they'll all live to adulthood. A few women have confessed to it as well, but more often they're poor and worried that they'll not be able to feed more than they've been given already, or they're in bad situations they fear to bring a child into. I almost never hear them from young married folk who can afford to support a family. But in any case, those methods for preventing children are generally unreliable, aren't they?"

The bishop swirled the red Fianna vintage in his glass before taking an appreciative sip. "Quite often. There might be some methods more reliable than others, possibly even some that only a formally trained Deryni like Seisyll would be likely to have discovered." He gave Nivard an ironic smile. "As I've never sought to use contraception myself, I can't say I've made a very thorough study of the matter."

John's eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. "Yes, your women keep dropping babies all over Rhemuth, don't they?"

Duncan laughed. "_Not_ what I meant, as you know full well, though I suppose I could have phrased that a bit more clearly!" He sobered, looking thoughtful. "Of course, unless Seisyll simply plans to abstain whenever Sophie's most fertile—assuming he can determine such matters with certainty—I'm sure Denis will have an opinion or two to share on the matter. He's bound to notice if no new Arilans are forthcoming in the next few years. Sophie's only twenty-five, after all." Duncan took another sip of his wine. "In any case, unless Seisyll's planning on coming to either of us for spiritual counsel on that issue—which is probably as likely as me waking up tomorrow to find all of Rhemuth littered with my by-blows—I'd say it's a matter between him, Sophie, and God. I'm neither his confessor nor his conscience."

John took a swallow of his wine, looking thoughtful. "Duncan, have you ever questioned your vocation or had a crisis of faith?"

The bishop leaned back slightly in his chair. "Oh, a time or two. Not recently, but at one time I wrestled quite a bit with whether or not I ought to have taken holy vows, knowing I was Deryni and that I was violating man's laws to do so, although I truly believed I was following God's call. And years before that, when I fell in love with Maryse, I questioned whether I was really meant to be a priest at all. How could I love a woman so intensely, if I was called to live a life that would require vows of celibacy? I thought perhaps I had simply misunderstood my vocation, that God still intended me to serve Him, but in marriage rather than in the priesthood. Then once I found out she'd died...well, as you can imagine, I was angry, confused..." He took another sip of wine before continuing. "Deep down, though, I knew I had a genuine call within my soul, so when it came time for me to take final vows, I didn't hesitate. I still had some doubts, but not about God, and not even about my vocation. More about...I don't know, my own suitability for the task, I suppose. What in the hell was God going to do with a young, wet-behind-the-ears, unfaithful to my calling, grieving Deryni seminarian?"

Father Nivard smiled. "Well, I can relate to some of that, at least. I had my own crisis of faith during my seminary years, and yes, some of that hinged on the Deryni question as well. Fortunately Denis discovered me at that point, and took me under his wing."

"Yes, and I doubt either of you have ever truly regretted that, though perhaps there might have been a time or two since then when you wished you had some of the freedoms that other men have. The freedom to marry, the freedom to father children, perhaps simply the freedom to express deeper feelings for a woman than mere friendship or even brotherly love." Duncan gave a faint smile. "That, too, seems to come with the territory at times. At least for me it has."

John was silent for a long moment. "I...struggle with that too at times. But I think...no, I _know_ I've made the right choice." He swallowed hard. "My vocation and my love for the scholarly life completely aside, I'm not sure I would have the courage it would take to be a married man, to wonder every time my wife quickened with my child if this one would be her last, if the tangible evidence of my love for her would bring her death instead." His sea green eyes shimmered with moisture in the firelight. "I don't envy him that fear and uncertainty."

Duncan merely nodded, not needing to ask who John meant.

"When did you learn the full truth about what happened to Maryse?" the younger priest finally asked.

"When I discovered Dhugal was my son. And no, the impact wasn't the same as it might have been had I learned sooner how she'd actually died. I felt sorrow for her sake, of course, but..." Duncan shook his head. "It wasn't like a fresh grief. More like a fresh reminder of an old wound, still a little tender but mostly healed."

"I know you only had the briefest of opportunities to experience marital love, but did you ever think you might lose her that way? Oh, maybe not from that one time, but someday?"

Duncan gazed down into his wine, a rueful smile on his face. "John, my brother, I was fifteen. Young, utterly stupid with fledgling love, and immortal. You assume I gave it any thought at all."

#

_ September 26_

_ Rhemuth Castle, Royal Library Annex_

"Happy Birthday, John!"

Father Nivard turned away from the bookshelf he was restocking. Sophie was walking towards him, a swaddled bundle in her arms. He smiled.

"Good morning, Sophie." He glanced down at the sleeping infant she held. "How are you and John Denis today?"

"Well enough. He's finally sleeping through most of the night, thank God." Sophie handed the baby to the priest. "Here, hold him just a moment, would you?"

Nivard took the child, startled, holding him a little awkwardly as Sophie fished inside her belt pouch. The baby awakened, wide eyes staring solemnly up at him.

"Seisyll's taken to calling him 'Jack,' by the way. Says it's less of a mouthful."

"Has he?" John stared back at his tiny charge. "His eyes aren't exactly blue, are they? Aren't most babies' eyes blue at first?"

"Most are, yes. Blue or brown...oh, there it is!" Sophie pulled a small bag out of her belt pouch. "Stefania's and Jamyl's eyes eventually darkened to the Arilan blue-violet, but I think Jack's might end up looking more like mine. Sort of goldish-green. As my stepmonster Alienora used to call them, 'queer-colored eyes'." She offered John the tiny bag. "Shall we trade now?"

The priest laughed. "That would probably be best, yes. I haven't all that much experience with small children. At least not any this young." He handed the swaddled bundle back to his mother gingerly, sighing with relief once she had him firmly in her grasp, then accepted the bag she held. "What's this?"

"It's called a birthday present. Surely you're not so secluded from the world in here, you've never heard of that custom?" Sophie grinned.

"Oh, I've heard of it. I might have even received one or two on occasion." John chuckled. "I just wasn't expecting _you_ to show up with one today."

"Why not? You're practically family."

He glanced up at her, surprised, but she was fussing with the baby's blanket. He looked back down again at the present he held, opening the drawstrings and reaching inside to draw out a set of prayer beads. Polished olive wood, from the look and feel of them, though the crucifix attached to the string was of gold, and the medallion above it appeared to be wrought of gold cloisonné, inlaid with thin layers of garnet, lapis, and other semiprecious stones to create an icon of the Madonna and Holy Infant.

John touched the icon reverently. Under his fingertip, he felt a faint tingle.

"Sophie, it's beautiful, but..." He hesitated. "Surely it's far too dear."

She smiled. "It's from Byzantyun. Seisyll somehow managed to acquire it—no, don't ask me how; I don't know all the details myself. But as you can probably tell, it's of Deryni craftsmanship, and Denis believes it probably originated somewhere besides Byzantyun, though God alone knows where or how old it is. And yes, it _is_ dear. So are you." Sophie grinned. "But don't get too used to receiving such largesse from us. That was a very lucky find; next year you'll probably just get a hand-drawn bookmark."

He chuckled. "Sophie..."

"Is Duncan at the Basilica this morning?" she asked, pointedly changing the subject.

"No. He's still in Cassan, visiting his newest grand-baby. Jared was born a week ago today."

"Oh, that's right!" She hesitated. "Duchess Mirjana is doing well, I hope?"

"Yes. The Duke's messenger said she'd had an easy labor."

"I'm glad. She's had an awful year, by all accounts; it's about time something went right for her." She smiled up at the man who had been like a big brother to her since shortly after her first arrival in Rhemuth, when she'd been a shy, homesick maiden grateful for guidance and new friends. "I'd better go; Seisyll's entrusted me with a message for Kelson that I need to deliver before I get too sidetracked. I'll try to stop back by for a longer chat on my way back out, if you'll be here later this afternoon."

"I'll be here. I might even set aside a few books for you."

He watched them leave, fingering the prayer beads thoughtfully for a long moment. He whispered a brief prayer for mother and child before tucking the beads into his pouch and returning to his work.


End file.
